Memory Game
by TwoFour-SixZeroOne
Summary: Harry's memory contained dark stories of Magic, the comfort of friends and the frustration of being orphaned at a young age. As Harry wakes up from a coma, he is informed that everything he believed in was naught but a dream. In his search for reality...


Full summary: Harry's memory contained dark stories of Magic, the comfort of friends and the frustration of being orphaned at a young age. As Harry wakes up from a coma, he is informed that everything he believed in was naught but a dream. In his search for reality (and, of course, for his past), he comes to realise how close his dream was taken from real-life events.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or anything else _that's been mentioned in the Harry Potter series._ They proudly belong to J. K. Rowling. The idea of the story, however, is my own, along with a few characters/character changes. The reader should be able to recognise what is Rowling's and what is my own.

**A/N: Right, well some of you will recognise this. I'm re-vamping and re-submitting. I apologise for those who have already stumbled upon this story, but the reason I'm starting from the beginning is because I still need to work out a few kinks, and submitting one chapter at a time gives me enough time for tweaking and whatnot. I missed this story and what it could have been/will turn out to be. Nothing's different about this chapter, other than a few re-worked sentences. **

**For one reason or another, I am unable to upload any documents (some sort of error that won't go away)... if ayone knows why/how it can be fixed, help is appreciated.**

There he was, laying, squirming on the ground. Blood flowed freely from every wound and either dripped sluggishly from his extremities or soaked through his clothing. A deep gash in his arm overflowed with the crimson liquid. A leak tricked down his arm and seeped through his clenched fingers, which where currently jammed around the now slippery handle of an old, rusted kitchen knife. It was his last resort.

When all energy was drained from him. When magic no longer served him. When he had nothing left but raw Human instinct…

That time was now.

Harry Potter nestled his arms and knees under his body and pried himself up off the clammy earth. The act of pushing himself up has become a major struggle. He figured that, perhaps once getting onto his legs, he'll be able to stand up straight and face that wretched creature before him. But, he put his foot down only to realise that remaining on his own two feet was an even greater battle than trying to get into that position. Harry twitched back and forth as a cold laugh chilled his ears and sent shivers down his neck.

The dark lord… Voldemort… Tom Marvolo Riddle…

"You think that little tool of yours is going to help you defeat me?" The dark lord jeered.

Harry clenched his jaw as hard as he could at another arctic gust of laughter. His weak, sweaty hands took a stronger grip on the knife, a drop of blood escaped through his fingers.

"Fool." Voldemort snarled, his tone laced with bitter ridicule.

It was hard for Harry to stare at the horrid fiend without his stomach knotting and his flesh searing with blistering rage. It's taken everything away. All was completely eradicated. Family, Hogwarts: his one true home, companions, everything important to him. All it decided to leave behind was his life, now cold, embittered and lonely. Almost pointless. An empty shell.

Harry felt a surge of pain in his chest at the thought of all his losses. He could end it right away with no effort whatsoever. He would be reunited with those he's lost within seconds… but… he could not. No one knows what that beast could do, should Harry vanish as well. For the sake of the future, he had to stay alive. He had to erase Voldemort no matter what.

His eyes set and determined, Harry took a step forward. His knees buckled under him and struggled to support his weight. On his next step, he tripped over nothing, stumbled forward in all directions, and barely remained on his own two feet. His third step was more of a dance. He skidded forward and swayed about before regaining equilibrium... Somewhat… Only when he was stable enough to look up, did he realise how close he was to the Dark Lord. His wet nose touched right where another nose was supposed to be, but instead something frigid, clammy and unpleasant met his sensitive reactors.

Normally, his eyes would have widened to the size of bowling balls, but he was too exhausted to feel. Every one of his sensors were deadened. The only knowledge he had was that he had to end this.

He rose the hand with the old knife, but he could not lift it high enough before receiving a powerful strike to the face. The hit was so strong, the momentum forced him away from the enemy and caused him to lose balance once again. His body crashed against the wet soil. His weight reluctantly slacked against the ground… he had no more energy to move. Even the knife he held with the tightest grip he could muster slowly eased out of his hand.

_No… not yet… not… _

Volemort reared his head back in a fit of terrible laughter. "I don't even need magic to tear your apart, you foolish boy."

A foot suddenly pressed its heavy load down on the back of Harry's head. He wanted to struggle and resist, but every ounce of strength had been zapped. He was losing oxygen. Literally unable to breath. Suffocated by the soft earth… and nothing could be done, but allow his lungs to deplete and fill with mud.

_I failed… I'm sorry…so, so, so--…… _was his verylast thought before his mind slipped into eternal blackness… 

Beeeeeeep

Beeeeep

Beep

Beep

Beep beep beep

Beepbeepbeepbeep

Beep beep beep……

Sharp sounds pierced through the thick, lazy darkness and jolted his senses to a start. This was the first thing to rattle his eardrums. A heart monitor.

Beep beep beep beep…. It went on steadily.

Green eyes slowly split open. Light shot and attacked still premature apertures, and eyelids immediately contracted. A hot, sweaty hand squeezed his firmly.

A flash of soft fiery red suddenly ran directly into his close line of vision and disappeared under his chin, a small body practically pinning him to the bed in a breath-binding embrace. Harry shifted slightly into a more comfortable position.

"Oh Harry, you're awake… thank goodness…" A woman said softly, a strange mix of pain and happiness quaking her vocal cords. He could feel her tremble against his weak, tender body.

Harry's eyes were still not used to the harsh glow of the light, but they were slowly easing open nonetheless. His vision blurred once more before cutting into focus. He was in a muggle's hospital, lying on a rough bed, wearing naught but a light sheet of a robe and with a needle in his arm, attached to an IV bag.

He felt sluggish and dreadfully weak, almost like after waking up from a very long slumber.

Sobs stubbornly erupted from the woman's mouth, growing louder as she tightened her tremulous grip on his robe.

"It's alright, Hermione, I'm here…" he croaked, naming the only person he knew with such a vibrant shade of red hair. It was so strange to speak, almost unpleasantly so… it felt very muck like regurgitating sharp, dry needles of air. He gently grazed his rough throat with cold, white fingertips.

The quivering stopped with a small gasp. "Hermione?" The female inquired, sounding mildly offended. With the sudden burst of strength in her voice, Harry was able to recognise a certain quality that belonged exclusively to an older woman. "Harry… don't you recognise your own mother?" she asked while lifting her warm hands to his face and lowering his weary gaze onto her features.

It was unmistakeable. Those green eyes, the flowing stream of shiny copper hair… it really was her…

"Mom" he said, only feeling energy he did not even know he possessed drain even further, rather than feeling a shock to his gut, "… but… you died…"


End file.
